


What's Left Behind

by moondusts



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: (mostly just angst), Amestris, Angst, Blind Roy Mustang, Catching Up, Cemetery, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Flame Alchemy, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Mid-Canon, Parting Ways, Post-Promised Day, Pre-Canon, Royai Week, Royai Week 2016, Stargazing, Undercover as a Couple, Young Royai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 19:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7187249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moondusts/pseuds/moondusts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Memories can linger when moving on, and moving forward. Mustang and Hawkeye's shared history continues to influence the ways they see each other.</p><p>Compiled oneshots written for Royai Week 2016. Chapter titles are the prompts that were given for each day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Warmth

When Roy Mustang first set out to learn alchemy, he hadn't thought that he would find himself in a creaky, old house and spending as much time trying to track down his reclusive mentor as he did studying.

He also hadn't thought that he would be sitting in the downstairs study, with only the large fireplace's flicker lighting the room, as he played chess with his mentor's daughter well into the night. One more peculiarity of adjusting his own schedule to keep up with Master Hawkeye's erratic one.

Roy didn't know anything about chess when he first moved into the estate, and though he couldn't claim to be substantially better now he had at least begun to grasp the basic strategies of the game. Riza had been a patient teacher, despite the fact that she had years of practice and Roy, regrettably, wasn't able to offer much of a challenge. Nevertheless he resolved to learn if it meant that it would provide him and Riza with some recreation they could both enjoy.

She had mostly kept to herself, spending her time in the quieter corners of the house engrossed in a book or tending to the household's needs. That had been how Roy first attempted to get to know her - inquiring about her reading or offering to help with any of her tasks - and while Riza had been polite she had always been distant and declined his assistance. Perhaps she's shy, Roy thought, but he couldn't finally spend so much time around a person his own age and not at least engage in friendly conversation.

When he had found her seated at the chessboard late one evening, idling turning pieces and drumming her fingers along the edge of the wooden table, he was unable to resist breaking the silence.

"Chess, huh?" he asked. Roy noticed that Riza gave a slight jump at the sound of his voice, so deep in thought that she had been unaware of his presence in the room.

"I don't suppose you play?" she responded, continuing to rotate the tall, cylindrical piece in her hand.

"Well," he began as he made his way toward the chair opposite her and took a seat. "Maybe you can teach me. I like to think I'm a quick learner." He gave her a slight smile, hoping to convey his genuine interest.

Riza's face showed a moment of hesitation, then amusement as she raised her eyes to meet his. "I hope you're not expecting me to go easy on you."

True to her word, and to his delight, Riza had not held back and had thrust him directly into the game after going over the names of the pieces and how they could move on the board. She studied their positions with such consideration before making her move, her sharp gaze never leaving the board. She was cautious in how she proceeded, a quality Roy could admire when he made a hasty move that he would come to regret.

Their chess games continued during any free late evening hours that arose, though it fell on Roy to ask Riza for a game. On some nights he would tease her, bringing along a page with scribbled notes that he would consult between turns, accompanied by exaggerated expressions. She would roll her eyes in mock annoyance, her mouth cracked in an obvious smirk.

"You're so quick to go on the offensive," she said one night as she called check. "Your king is wide open, and the rest of your pieces don't have a lot options. Not to mention that your queen is drastically under-utilized. Don't tell me that you forgot which piece you're supposed to be guarding."

Roy chose his next move with slightly more consideration, completely aware that his odds of winning this match were non-existent. Since they had begun their occasional chess games he had yet to win even once.

"But what's a king without his queen, Miss Hawkeye?" he asked, as if waxing poetic was a game-changing strategy.

"Hmm, well, I'd say 'checkmate,'" Riza replied as she took advantage of the opening he had just created, completely oblivious to her potential moves.

He couldn't suppress a laugh as he rose to stoke the fire, attempting to keep its flames going for just a bit longer. There was no telling how late it had gotten, though it didn't matter much to either of them. There was an unspoken agreement between the two of them that the time away from alchemy, drafty hallways, and rigid schedules was worth a few hours of missed sleep.

For a while it was almost possible to forget, to sit like old friends who were simply enjoying an evening in. But after a few games the heat at his back became impossible to ignore, clinging to him like a reminder of unfulfilled goals.

There was a creeping feeling that showed up every now and then. This was almost a home, they were almost two average kids.

Almost content.

He could see the same thoughts on Riza's face, from time to time. It was evident in her awkwardness, how she moved around the house like she was a part of its walls. She and him longed for much of the same things.

But, Roy considered as he returned to his chair, they had the nights, and that was something.

One sliver of normalcy among a checkered board and wooden soldiers.


	2. Color

Morning has arrived, its sunlight breaking past the window's thin curtains with ease and flooding the room. Hawkeye didn't sleep much the night before, still reeling from shock over the events of the Promised Day and doing her best to ignore the persistent pain at her neck. Everything had been going according to plan until they reached those underground passages. They were so close, and in an instant everything had changed.

They _couldn't_ have planned for this, of course. Hawkeye knows that if she hadn't been able to come up with a quick signal Mustang would have gone through with the transmutation willingly, and likely paid an even greater price. That's a small solace among the uncertainty they now face.

But still, it just isn't right.

It shouldn't be the Colonel, who has already given so much and was prepared to sacrifice even more. Not the one person she could place her faith in to change this country for the better.

She's been staring at him, lost in thought and swallowed up by her own melancholy. But then again, Hawkeye can't remember the last time she's seen him in such a relaxed state. For all his slacking, Mustang is never really at rest and here he is, sleeping soundly and not endlessly turning over plots and alliances in his mind.

Hawkeye feels a bit guilty for watching the Colonel so closely, knowing full well that he'd complain about her worrying if he knew she was looking at him. He would be needling her about once again crying tears he's unable to see.

Just as she's thinking of attempting to fall back asleep she hears his voice, though he doesn't move an inch.

"Hawkeye? Are you there?" Mustang asks.

Under any other circumstances, Hawkeye would have given him one of her usual retorts, but the low, almost pleading tone to his voice prompts her to answer sincerely.

"Yes, sir. I'm here."

"Did I wake you? What time is it?"

Hawkeye can just barely make out the time on the wall clock across the room. "It's about 0800 hours. Do you need a nurse? Should I call..."

"No," Mustang responds quickly, and then once again in a quieter, gentler voice. "No."

His eyes are open now, and he's turned his head slightly in the general direction of her voice. They're still a faded grey, unfocused and staring blankly. Hawkeye's not sure what else a part of her may have been anticipating. It's not as if all the wishing and hoping of the past several hours is going to restore his sight.

"You should rest, sir. I'll be right here if you need anything." From her bed, Hawkeye can reach the edge of his own with her right hand after some slight adjustments and a good stretch. She places her hand alongside his to let him know that she _is_ right by his side, as she always promised to be, but she's surprised when he grips some of her fingers in his palm. His hand is tense, as if she'll float away the second he lets go.

"Have you heard anything? About what's happened since..." he stops, the right words clearly escaping him. "How's Central holding up?"

"I'm afraid I'm as out of the loop as you are, sir, but as far as I can tell the Amestrian people still stand by their country and mourn the loss of its revered, human Fuhrer." He's deliberately ignored her suggestion, but she should expect nothing less from the Colonel. He didn't allow himself the opportunities to be concerned over his own injuries. "But the only information I can give you for certain would be about the events in what must be the busiest corner of this hospital."

Mustang takes his free hand and guides it along his shoulder and up to his jaw, feeling the gentle heat from the sunlight shining in. "There's a window," he says, though it's more of a question than a statement. Once again Hawkeye is struck by the thought that on a typical day, this would have likely been the setup for a line about getting out of work, and suddenly the ease of joking around seems like a distant pastime.

"Tell me what's outside," he adds.

"Sir?"

"I didn't think I'd miss the look of grass and the bumpy roads I hated driving on." His expression is neutral, but relaxed.

Hawkeye can't say it's much of a view from the back of an isolated hospital, but the greens of the expansive open land and occasional car outside their window are peaceful reminders that life is still going, relatively undisturbed. She briefly describes some of the features of the local landscape, finding that it's calming to look at the land as an idle observer, rather than a tactician. The fact that it's so unremarkable makes it a welcome change of pace from the crowded downtown streets, and it's at that moment that Hawkeye realizes Mustang's request was as much for her benefit as his own. "It's a slower pace, but people are carrying on."

"There's a lot of things I would have committed to memory, in retrospect." He smirks for the first time in days. "For example, that look that you love to give me when you think I'm being reckless."

"Ah yes, a regular daily occurrence. Don't worry, sir, I'll make sure you're able to feel it from across the room."

He laughs now, low but full. They're both still here, against all odds. Roy Mustang, too, was carrying on.

"Thank you, Hawkeye." He releases her fingers, but this time she's the one to hold on.

"You're quite welcome, sir."

She'll never stop looking out for him.


	3. Stars

"You know, sir, you've got to actually fill out the paperwork in order for it to get done." Hawkeye's voice brings Mustang back to reality, and he notices that he had been staring at the stack of papers in front of him. He looks over at her desk across the room and she appears to be more amused than annoyed, despite the fact that the unfinished paperwork is keeping them both here well into the night.

"I'm distracted, more than usual," he responds. "It's tough to keep my focus after so many hours of sitting here because of an _administrative error_ caught at the last minute. And yet you and I are the only ones here sorting this out." Mustang tosses his pen down on the desk, rubbing at his temples and silently cursing the rather unorganized bureaucracy.

"It's got to be after midnight already, Hawkeye. As much as I appreciate the help, you don't have to stay, you know." He looks over at Hawkeye and is not surprised that she appears calm and collected.

She's still studying the forms in front of her, jotting down notes and not breaking her attention as she responds. "The deadline's tomorrow afternoon, sir, and I'd rather not see you miss it if I can help it. I don't mind. Besides, we're nearly done."

Hawkeye had always had a firmer grip on motivation for finishing tedious work than Mustang did, and while she likely really didn't mind, Mustang was nearing his wit's end.

But the sooner they could get out of here, the better, so Mustang retrieved the pen he had hastily thrown aside and set to work on the remainder of the pile on his desk. With those finally completed, he gathered the final stack from Hawkeye's desk along with her notes, which listed points he may want to look over or make note of for his own records. He was grateful that she had opted to stay, both for the company she provided and the second set of eyes to look over details he was likely to miss in his fatigue.

Within the hour the last of the forms were proofread, signed, and packed up into a box to be brought over to the Eastern Commander's office. As he carried the box into the hall and locked the door to their office behind them, Hawkeye noticed that Mustang's mood had immediately improved. He had been energized the moment he was freed from the obligation that caused his restlessness.

After dropping off the source of their extended workday and bidding a goodnight to the few remaining members of the late security watch, Mustang and Hawkeye exited Eastern Command into the still-humid night air. It was still a few hours until sunrise, and the few scattered lampposts did little to break up the darkness of the area. Fortunately, it's only a short walk to Hawkeye's car, and as she and Mustang climb into the front seats she notices that his shoulders are slumped forward to give him the best view through the top of the windshield.

"Everything all right, sir?" she asks as the car's engine hums to life.

"Yes. It's just that I'm not sure of the last time I was out so late, without all of East's buildings and lights around me. It makes me think of all those times we snuck out of the house to get a better look at the night sky. Do you remember?"

She laughs softly, and it's that rare laugh she reserves for private conversations and the past. The sweet, pre-military sound that only he has the honor of hearing. "I remember arguing about which constellations were visible and where they were." The car glides forward and they begin their ride to Mustang's home.

"Hey now, I thought we settled that a long time ago. I can't help that the library's astronomy books weren't the most up-to-date with constellations."

She shoots him a glance as they stop at a streetlight. "I know, but all these years later and I've yet to spot the 'Mustang the Great' you always claimed was up there."

At that, he's the one laughing, admittedly louder and longer than it warrants. He must be near-delirious from his own drowsiness.

Hawkeye pulls up outside his building and parks, and as the Colonel puts his hand on the door handle she's aware of a question he's not asking. Instead, he's suddenly aware of the time again and thanks her for enduring the entirety of the night with him. "Get home safe, Lieutenant. I'll be seeing you back at Command in the morning."

"Goodnight, Colonel."

Within a few minutes Hawkeye is at her own apartment, and as she makes her way out of the car and over to the door her gaze lands on the stars that Mustang had been admiring, though somewhat faded and more difficult to spot. She lingers for only a moment before making her way inside and up the stairs, relieved to have her room in sight. As she changes out of her uniform and crawls into bed, careful not to disturb Hayate, she drifts off to sleep with thoughts of moonlight, laughter, and the idea that she and Mustang could still use some stargazing every now and then.


	4. Forgotten

The Promised Day is hours away, looming over Mustang and Hawkeye with its dreadful approach. There's an unspoken understanding between them that this upcoming fight has the possibility of being the last one they undertake as a team, putting a stop to their lifelong goals and ripping one of them from the life of the other. Their drive to put the first step of Mustang's plan into action is met with a short detour, which is the brief calm before the storm.

It's only natural, then, that they should wind up in the cemetery once more. Those who have already died feel closer than ever when one is faced with the inescapable weight of their own mortality.

Stopping to pay their respects at Hughes' grave had been the Colonel's request, though he largely remained silent as they stood in front of his tombstone. More than once Hawkeye had considered speaking, but the words always caught in her throat at the last moment. For the first time in years Hawkeye was wary of saying the wrong thing to the only person that she could be candid and open with, and so she stood at a distance until she had to urge the Colonel to depart.

He doesn't say anything until they've been back on the road for a few minutes, and when Mustang speaks he doesn't look away from the window. "Thank you." He pauses before he resumes. "I keep thinking about how Hughes should be here, working with us to take back our country and getting to go home to his family. I felt like I owed him one last visit before tomorrow."

Hawkeye doesn't respond, fearing that interrupting Mustang would discourage him from allowing the words to flow.

"He... always had a way of doing things I couldn't. I gave him a hard time about the family photos and all the talk about his daughter, but he was happy. Somehow, in this lifetime, Hughes found a way to be at peace. I want to make sure I remember that, remember who he was in his final years." The Colonel's voice hangs on the last word, as if voicing it will condemn Hughes to his fate once again.

As they drive on, it occurs to Hawkeye just how much of their lives and the years they've known each other have been shaped by cemetery visits. After all, it was a funeral that had reunited them and brought them on this path together, heading towards a battle unlike anything they have ever seen.

"His killer is still out there, not facing any consequences. I need to know who shot him on a street and left him to bleed, alone." His reminiscing is beginning to boil over into anger, and Hawkeye knows that Mustang tries his best to pull himself over that ledge, when emotions start to cross over from simply _feeling_ to _feeling powerless_.

"We will, sir." His body language seems to soften at the subtle reminder that this is not a quest he has to undertake on his own, though he doesn't respond.

The car ride continues in silence, with Mustang still staring idly out the window. There's a lot ahead of them, and Hawkeye doesn't want Mustang's memories of their last proper conversation to be clouded by thoughts of failure and a lack of retribution.

"It's because of Lieutenant Colonel Hughes that we caught onto this trail. He was two steps ahead of us." Hughes may not have been fully aware of just how deep the conspiracy in the military went, but he had been willing to stake his life to set Mustang on the right track.

"I suppose you're right." For the first time since they've re-entered the car at the cemetery, Mustang turns to face Hawkeye, though his previous contempt seems to have turned into tiredness at the corners of his eyes and the slump of his shoulders.

"He was a respectable family man, certainly, but in my observations there wasn't a moment in his professional life where his dedication to your goal wavered. Tomorrow's battles are his as much as ours. This is all for the Amestris he also wanted to see emerge."

Mustang sighed. "Hughes, you can be a real piece of work."

"Sir?" Hawkeye asked, unsure if the Colonel's mumbling had been a comment or simply a case of him thinking out loud.

"Make that the second time he's intervened at the right moment when I've crossed paths with something I didn't even see coming."

The cracks forming in Roy Mustang have been largely patched up, though Hawkeye knows that his newfound calmness will not last for long. There was a tenacity to him that could not be quelled until he was satisfied with the outcome, and it was in this state that he needed the most support from her.

They were nearing the end of their ride into the city, and there was still much to be done before they could safely rest. As the minutes slowly ticked down into the remainder of the night, Hawkeye found that she feared for Mustang. Not because of the monsters that may be awaiting them in the dark, but because of the demons that were threatening to push him over the line.


	5. Music

Roy was seated at his desk with his eyes closed, taking in the just-audible sounds of birds chirping outside and the slow, soothing sound of the radio in the corner of his room. The house was otherwise silent, and although he was still fully awake, he felt as though he could easily drift off to sleep despite his current position. He slid down slightly so he could recline his back and folded his arms behind his head. It couldn't have been more than a few minutes when he heard a voice in the doorway behind him.

"Napping already?" Riza asks. She rarely crossed the threshold into his room unless she was explicitly welcomed in, even though Roy had told her many times that such a formality was unnecessary. It was her house, after all.

"Just enjoying a quick break. We had music like this playing at my aunt's place on some nights, especially when my sisters had the spare time to practice dancing or read up on current events." He opens his eyes and turns to face her. "Riza, you don't dance, do you?"

Her features fall slightly as she answers, like she's disappointing him. "No, I... was never really encouraged to pursue such hobbies."

"Would you like to learn?"

A look of uncertainty crosses her face, but soon fades. Roy has found that in the few months he's been living at the Hawkeye Estate, Riza has been mostly receptive, if not slightly hesitant, to his attempts to get to know her.

"Okay," she answers. The fact that her stern father left for a short trip earlier this morning allows for some extended breaks and extracurricular activities.

"I'll show you a waltz, nice and simple." He stands and waves her into the room, his right hand clasping hers while his left gently rests on her back. Slowly he begins to move, guiding her along to repeat the short sequence of steps.

She's not completely in sync with his movements, often stepping too late or too slow, but she seems to be enjoying herself in spite of it. "It's just these steps?" she asks. "Nothing else?"

Roy nods. "You're doing well."

"I've always been curious," she begins, occasionally glancing at her feet to make sure she's stepping back in time and not tripping over herself, "about dancing and art and things that are modern. But father always says that Hawkeyes are meant to seek practical knowledge, and anything one needs to know can be found in the right book."

"There's a lot to be learned from the past. That's what brought me here, after all. But we're not bound by any one set path."

She frowns slightly, as if the idea that a person can break free of their upbringing is ridiculous in itself. Perhaps he's said the wrong thing.

"Or," he says, slowing their pace slightly. "You can pick the role that suits you. People will see what you want them to see. Maybe Riza Hawkeye, knowledgeable about history and crushing-Roy-at-chess by day, and Elizabeth, mysterious traveler and ballroom dancer by night."

Riza can't suppress a small laugh, but something about the expression on Roy's face gives her the idea that he's already had his own experiences with playing parts.

The radio is switching over to a faster paced piece, and their clumsy waltz comes to an end.

"So, think you can teach me another one?"

* * *

It's so easy for Roy's thoughts to drift, between the second glass of wine he shouldn't have had and the gentle sound of a piano tune floating through the doorway of the lively café down the street. It was their usual routine: keep tabs on a target, stake out their frequent locations, eavesdrop and snoop as needed. Roy's business is intelligence gathering, of course, and it helps to be aware of what today's allies and tomorrow's enemies may be plotting. And as they often say, another set of eyes and ears can make all the difference.

Or, at least, those were the rational reasons why he and Elizabeth found themselves walking through East City after midnight on a humid summer night.

What was _ir_ rational was how effortlessly he got ahead of himself, catching his thoughts turning to how lovely an evening out with Elizabeth was. How beautiful she looked in that dress and how light her laugh had been over dinner. She had smiled at him like she was hopelessly infatuated.

Which was part of the job, he reminded himself.

Playing pretend is easy enough; Roy's had a lifetime of practice at it. But lately he finds that he's doing a lot less pretending and a lot more overthinking.

When there's several seconds of silence between them Roy realizes that she had finished speaking, awkwardly awaiting some type of comment. "Right," he quickly responds and immediately regrets when he sees her confused expression. It occurs to him that he should have stayed silent, because now it's obvious that he hadn't been listening.

"Roy, don't tell me you're tipsy," she says in a cheery tone. Though they were unlikely to be recognized, her dress and hairstyle offer a layer of disguise to anyone who may think she seems familiar, and her warm, upbeat demeanor assures passersby that she's just another young date.

"Only lost in thought about what a lovely evening we've had, Elizabeth," he replies.

It was rare that his work with Elizabeth extended outside of phone calls and involved joint reconnaissance. He savored the sound of his name, now that the only time he would hear it from her lips was when they were undercover.

Her apartment is just down the street, and the sound of the café's piano has dimmed as they get closer to her building. The melody, however, has hooked into his thoughts and pulled up all sorts of memories from the days when there could still be a Roy and Riza.

He follows her up the short set of stairs, through the lobby, and down the dim hallway to the singular ground floor apartment. When that door shuts it will be back to business as usual, to Colonel and Lieutenant. They start to say goodnight and there's a part of Roy that wants to say that they never got to dance tonight, even if she brushes it off as a joke, but the words refuse to form.


	6. Ignite

There's something about the way Roy is when studying alchemy that makes it feel like no time has passed at all. From the moment Riza mentioned her father's notes, the passion came back into his eyes and he reminded her of the young man who had lived in this house, poring over notes and reciting principles. She could almost believe, for just a little while, that he had never left for the military in the first place.

They fall back into routine rather quickly and Riza wonders if he has also missed this simplicity, despite the fact that his life has been so full and varied as of late. Roy has always had a way of making her feel comfortable, and Riza finds the gaps made by her father's distance once again being filled by Roy's companionship. Sharing her father's secret - her secret now, she reminds herself - with him feels like the natural choice.

He responds to her offer with gratitude, and as he works to break the decoded writing he voices many of his revelations out loud, including her in the process.

"The most important thing is control. The second you lose your focus is the second the flames can get away from you."

His cool fingers are tracing over lines and letters printed by a hot needle that stung her flesh as she was reminded of her role and used as a canvas. She was good enough to be given the knowledge to carry, but not good enough to ever be instructed in its use.

As Roy progresses, he doesn't give Riza the impression that she is merely a tool, but rather that she is as involved in its deconstruction as he is. For the first time, alchemy is no longer something that's abstract, existing far away from where she's allowed to go.

The next day Riza sits behind the house as Roy practices ahead in the expanse of land. He's careful not to attempt anything too dangerous, and she can hear him muttering to himself as he notices mistakes in the flame alchemy circle he's tracing in the dirt. A small makeshift campfire sits next to it as the source of his flame. That was always one benefit to living in an isolated corner of the town; when her father was away they felt like the last two people on the planet.

"I think I understand," he calls out. "The strength of the flame is not entirely dependent on its source. It's as intense as the alchemist chooses, but the problem is having a flame available."

"Any ideas?" she asks.

"Besides trial and error?" He turns his head to smile at her. "I can talk to some of the military's engineers. One of them may be able to come up with a practical solution for making flame alchemy more versatile."

Of course, the military. Riza had nearly forgotten that he would be leaving to return to his duties soon. Personal leave for a death in the family was only for so long.

She nods, though he's since turned back to his practice. She was so sure that she had also outgrown this house, and yet as the sun was setting on another day Riza found that she would remain like this, if she were able.

As the days roll by Roy seems to have already become comfortable with the flames. It's not surprising, considering how studious he was once he got past all his procrastination. Her father knew that Roy had this drive within him, and maybe her back would have been spared if he had been able to see beyond his disdain for the military. Roy's a worthy successor, that much is more apparent now than it ever was. For Riza, being the key that unlocks his full potential it is first decision that is fully hers and free from her father's influence.

The sparse hours of free time with Roy consist of idle conversation and chess, though she can't say that his skills have improved by much. He tells her a bit about the academy and how he's already met so many types of people, including one of the most enthusiastic men in the country. When Riza hears about the man's eagerness for family and closeness, she understands all too well how one person can long for the tenderness that they lack.

When the morning of Roy's return to the military arrives, Riza feels a heaviness in her bones. Roy is more than prepared to take his knowledge of flame alchemy with him and perfect it on his own, and she wouldn't even consider keeping him from his commitments and his own journey. Just the same, these past few days have been moments that she would love to preserve.

Roy assures Riza that she can contact him if she should need anything, that she shouldn't be afraid to ask, and she knows that to be true. He's a phone call away, and it's clear that time apart cannot change the bond that exists between them. Yet the secrets they have shared with each other and the years they lived together are pushing and pulling her forward into the unknown. If there is a better Amestris out there, she wants to help him shape it.


	7. Choices

It's strange, Riza thinks, that events should line up as they did after her father passed away. Throughout the burial, the funeral director's speech about the brevity of life and its pursuit of knowledge is little more than a buzzing sound in her ears. She is numb, though not out of grief.

She was both surprised and relieved to see Roy in the first place. She knew that he still sought the secrets of flame alchemy, but she wasn't expecting him to travel all the way back to the house to meet with her father.

Though she also wasn't expecting her father to die so soon. But, her father had lived with Roy more than he had lived around her, so perhaps it was fitting that he had died in Roy's company.

When he had left to return to the military he had hugged her so tightly, as though she would float away the second he turned his back on her. The business card that Roy gave to her after the funeral felt like a heavy stone in her pocket, reminding her that she wasn't forced to continue on alone.

But Riza wasn't sure what, exactly, was the proper course of action to take. She couldn't contact Roy to tell him that she was unsure where her life was headed now or that this house didn't feel any less restrictive than when her father had been alive. Though she does consider calling, if only to make small talk or ask his opinion on where to go in this big world she had barely seen.

For all of her self-doubt, Riza finds her thoughts returning to the exchange they shared in the cemetery that day. She was inspired, and as much as she tried to turn her thoughts to developing her own course of action she found them returning to Roy's admission.

_"I know Master Hawkeye still hadn't come around to the idea of the military," he said. "But I didn't join to be a mindless soldier for all the higher ups' agendas. I joined for myself."_

_"You had never said too much about it other than wanting to become a State Alchemist," she responded._

_"That's only the first part. After that, it's about working my way up until I can actually make changes to help those who need it. Amestris needs to be safe, and its people need to be cared for and feel like they can trust their government to work for them."_

Roy hadn't spoken like it was some far-off dream. Instead, he described his ideals with the certainly of someone who was determined to see them become reality. What he had described had been all Riza could hope to see for her country, and as she turned his card over in her hands Riza began to think about the possibility of taking an active role in his plans. After all, change wasn't brought about by hoping and waiting, but by those who were prepared to jump straight into the fire.

* * *

Leaving the Hawkeye Estate after finally acquiring the secrets to flame alchemy that he had craved for so long didn't leave Roy feeling as victorious as he anticipated. It had taken Master Hawkeye's death and Riza's courage to share her secret, and the circumstances had left a bitter taste in his mouth.

During the journey back east he had considered if this was indeed the final step needed to become a State Alchemist and secure a position of marginal influence in the military. He had practiced a great deal over the past few days, and between registering for the exam and waiting to be called in there was plenty of time to improve even further.

Yet if this is what he had been waiting for, Roy wondered why something still appeared to be lacking.

It was probably just homesickness, he thought. The estate had been as much of a home to him as Madame Christmas' place and returning to it only stirred up feelings of life before enlisting. If he was being honest with himself, he still hadn't adjusted to the frutration of feeling like only another cog in the low-ranking machine. Flame alchemy was the edge he needed, and surely the feelings of stagnation would dissipate once he had his State Examination.

He also hadn't meant to confide in Riza so much, but once he started speaking about his goals the words had continued to spill out. She hadn't scoffed at him as her father had done but rather seemed to be confident that he could accomplish what he was setting out to do. Aside from Master Hawkeye, Riza was the only person that he had been able to speak with about his dreams for the country.

He had left her with his contact information, in the event that she should need anything from him. Or, he had hoped, in the event that their lives could continue to overlap despite their distance and differences. Despite the fact that he couldn't extend his personal leave any longer, Roy felt a slight pang of guilt at the thought of Riza remaining in that house alone so soon after her father's death, especially in the wake of her flame alchemy revelation. It hadn't been his intention to study the notes in such intimate moments and then run off to leave her behind.

Now that Roy had returned to his base he occasionally caught himself hoping for a memo notifying him that he had received a call, though one never came.


End file.
